“We told him it was his last shot. He had one more chance to get clean, or he was out. He was my best friend, but I couldn’t even look at him anymore. So we sent him back to rehab. And this time it looked like it stuck. Long enough that I started letting my guard down. We were writing songs again. Touring. Things were good. It took me a while before I started to notice the little things. The fidgeting. The too-loud laugh. The showing up late or not at all.
“We had a show in Atlanta, and it was fucking clear as day he was using again. We put it up to a vote on the tour bus that night. He was out. Tommy begged me to change my mind, to change everyone else’s mind. But he’d blown his last chance. I told him that. I couldn’t stand by and watch him kill himself slowly.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
“We got to Miami and crashed for the night. I woke up early feeling like something was wrong. I went to Tommy’s room and let myself in.”
I clung to Vonn, trying to put myself between him and the memory.
“He was still alive. High as fuck. Pills and coke on the coffee table right in front of him. ‘I started a new song, Vonn. We can finish it together.’ He couldn’t even hold his head up, and I knew something was wrong. So fucking wrong. I called the doctor, then sat on the floor with Tommy.
“He kept sayin’ he was sorry. So fucking sorry. And I just held on to him. I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight like it was gonna keep him with me.”
Vonn’s voice was tight with emotion. It felt like a knife in my chest. “I loved him like a brother.”
Hot tears escaped from my eyes, slipping down my cheek to slide against his chest.
“Told him he was going to be okay. That we were gonna be okay. He told me it wasn’t my fault and that he wanted me to finish the song. Our last song. He was reciting lyrics one second and gone the next. His heart stopped. On Christmas Eve.”
“I’m so sorry, Vonn.” Words felt meaningless when stacked against his palpable pain.
He sighed, his breath ruffling my hair. “It was always going to end this way. That was the first line of the song.” His fingers trailed up and down my arm like he was playing chords. “There’s no new music without him. I’m no good with words. He was the lyrics. I was the music. But there aren’t any more songs without him.”
“That’s why this is your farewell tour?”
“Yeah.” He was silent for a while, threading his fingers through my hair over and over again. “Not sure who I am without the band. Not even sure how to find out. But seeing what you’re doing…maybe it gives me hope that I can become someone besides a bass-playing punk rocker.”
We were from opposite worlds facing the same existential crisis.
“You probably don’t have a minivan to sell. But if you did, you’d be surprised at how liberating it feels,” I ventured.
His laugh was music to my ears.
“I’m so sorry, Vonn.”
“I know, baby. I am too.”
“I didn’t know Tommy. But I bet he’d be proud of how you’re mentoring his son. Garrett really looks up to you. The rest of the band too. But you especially.” It was the truth. Vonn was patient with the boy who was barely a man, guiding him through the pitfalls of money and fame.
Vonn pulled me down so my back was flush with his front. He nuzzled into my neck. “Thank you, Brooke.”
“Morning.” Vonn’s rough voice was even more jagged when it was laced with sleep.
I stretched luxuriously in his warm, solid arms. “Mmm, morning. What time is it?”
“Early. Go back to sleep,” he said, slipping away from me.
“Mmmph.” He gave me a pat on the butt, pulled the covers up around me, and left the room. I heard Betty jingling after him. I’d get up in a minute to feed her, I decided. Just one more minute snuggled up between sheets that smelled like Vonn.
One minute turned into another REM cycle. When I woke again, the sun was unnaturally bright outside, reflecting off the blanket of white.
Betty was curled up next to me, her tail thumping rhythmically on the duvet.
I gave her ears a ruffle and rolled over to bury my face into the pillow as my brain slowly came back online.
Christmas morning.
The concert.